


Looking forward

by Elisexyz



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bittersweet, Everybody Lives, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Gen, No Henry-Pan Switch AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:26:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22164025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/pseuds/Elisexyz
Summary: Five homes that Neal lost and one that he gets to keep.
Relationships: Baelfire | Neal Cassidy & Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Baelfire | Neal Cassidy & Evil Queen | Regina Mills & Henry Mills, Baelfire | Neal Cassidy & Mary Darling, Baelfire | Neal Cassidy & Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Baelfire | Neal Cassidy/Emma Swan, Baelfire | Neal Cassidy/Tamara
Comments: 19
Kudos: 38





	Looking forward

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaah, here, it's done! I was working on this before Christmas, and I have no idea _how_ I finished it, between visiting my relatives for the holidays and all the studying that I have to do know that I'm back home, but here it is. Done. Yay me LOL.  
>    
>  This all canon compliant, except for the last part, which is set in a post-Neverland AU in which Henry and Pan never switched, so everybody lives, everything is sunny and s3B doesn't exist. Enjoy!

1.

It’s dark, and Baelfire is scared.

“Papa?” he calls out, quietly, a dying fire illuminating just enough to let him see that he is alone. He shivers, pushing himself off the bed even with his knees wobbling. “Papa?” he tries again, a little louder, half hoping that maybe he just fell asleep in a corner, hidden, for some reason—there’s no answer, and Baelfire’s eyes immediately fill with tears.

He tries to breath in, shoulders set and lips pressed together, because he should be braver than this, his mom always said to try and be the bravest he could be—his mom is gone, taken away by pirates, and now he can’t find his dad either.

His dad wouldn’t have left without a word, he wouldn’t have left him alone.

(He must have been taken, then. Taken like his mom.)

It’s dark, it’s cold, and every shadow seems so much bigger than he can handle. Baelfire just wants his papa.

Everything is blurry because of the tears, but he still moves to the door, naked feet against the floor, because maybe he can still catch up, maybe his dad isn’t far yet—he sniffles, wiping away some tears that fell on his cheeks and hesitating at the entrance of the house, staring at a big, dark night and having no idea where to even begin looking.

“Bae?”

He turns sharply towards his right, finding his dad, torch at hand and wood under his arm, leaning on his cane with the other hand and looking at him with a big, worried frown on his face.

Baelfire’s shoulders stomp in relief, and more tears come, only they are happy, this time.

“Bae, what are you doing—?”

He barrels towards his dad without a second thought, wrapping his arms around his torso as soon as he’s within reach and making him sway dangerously on his feet. Baelfire only holds on tighter, suffocating a sob into his chest, terror and relief investing him together at full force.

His papa’s there. He isn’t lost.

He attempts to shush him, the hand holding his cane clumsily finding the back of Baelfire’s head, the contact tearing a relieved grin out of him. “What’s wrong?” his dad asks, gently. “Why are you out here in the cold?”

It takes Baelfire a few moments to find enough voice to let out the words. “I thought you were _gone_ ,” he says, and he knows he doesn’t have to add _like Mom_. His papa knows.

A few long moments of silence go by.

“I only went to fetch some more wood,” his dad eventually says, quietly. “It’s cold.”

Baelfire nods against him. He understands. He was just scared, because it was dark and he was alone.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” his dad adds, and again Baelfire nods, because he knows.

They get back inside, and with more wood to warm the house and a blanket promptly wrapped around him, Baelfire soon stops shivering. It’s after his dad is done cleaning his feet from the dirt and he’s setting him back to sleep that he runs his fingers through Baelfire’s hair, his face twisting oddly before he speaks.

“I will never leave you, Bae,” he says, tightly. “That—that I can promise you.”

Baelfire smiles without hesitation, because he believes him wholly. He’s safe.

2.

“Do they feel uncomfortable, dear?”

Baelfire jumps at the sudden interruption, turning around sharply as his heart races and his eyes threaten to shoot out of his head, like he has been caught doing something that he wasn’t supposed to.

“No—no, no, of course not!” he immediately assures, stammering a little on the words. The last thing that he wants is for her to be offended, after she was so kind as to let him stay in her family’s house and to buy him new clothes.

The fabric feels a little _weird_ , softer than what he was given at the factory, but it isn’t uncomfortable at all. He is indoors, and wearing clean clothes, surrounded by kind people. He just can’t quite believe it, that’s all.

“I was just—just looking at them,” he can only offer, with a small shrug. “I like them,” he clarifies then.

Mrs Darling’s lips twist into a warm smile. “I’m glad to hear that.” She considers him for a moment, then she waves him closer with one hand. “Come, come,” she prompts, as he stands still, like a bit of a moron. “Dinner’s just about ready, we’re all waiting for you.”

There is no severity in her tone, it sounds more like a gentle invitation, a reminder that he’s welcome to share their meals, that there is no need to steal their bread or have Wendy bring him scraps in secret.

Baelfire quickly nods, skipping towards her, a smile bubbling at his lips of its own volition.

As soon as he’s within reach, Mrs Darling takes him arm in arm, as naturally as if he weren’t a half-stranger, and he can only breathe through the warm fire in his chest, thinking that if this is what the rest of his life might look like—it’s perfect.

3.

“Captain!”

Killian doesn’t stir, only huffing his disapproval as he frowns and pulls back a bit from his touch. Baelfire’s enthusiasm only flails for about a second.

“Killian!” he insists, giving him an even more vigorous shake. “Come on, wake up!” Not long before, he wouldn’t have _dared_ , because acting so familiar with a pirate, no matter how friendly in appearance, seemed like too much of a risk, but, well—he is walking around wearing the captain’s clothes, sharing his quarters and getting lessons on just about anything that he might need to survive on a ship, so he is beginning to feel like he is out of danger here.

Killian eventually does wake up, squinting at him with a comically confused expression. “Bae? What is it?” he mutters, groggy with sleep, his eyes shooting around for a moment, as if looking for an explanation for his behaviour.

“It’s morning!” Baelfire announces. “You said sword training at dawn!” He is all but bouncing up and down, a grin threatening to split his face in two.

He was never too popular with the other kids, and he didn’t get a chance to play with fake swords as much as he would have liked. Now he is going to have a real pirate captain teach him how to swordfight. _For real_.

He isn’t going to waste a minute of this.

Killian rubs his face with one hand, sighing even as a small smile twists his lips. “I did say that, didn’t I?” He pauses, pushing himself up in a sitting position. “Alright, lad, just give me time to eat something and—”

“I’ve got the food for you already!” Baelfire quickly cuts him off, pushing his breakfast in the direction of the stunned captain. He actually just grabbed a bunch of hardtacks, some cheese, an orange and some water, but well, it should be okay.

Killian snorts, shaking his head. “Quite the eager student, aren’t you?” he comments, amused, as he accepts the food.

Baelfire doesn’t last long in silence before he blurts out: “So, can I get a sword?”

Maybe he’s being a little too childish. Still. _Swords_.

Killian’s smile is more affectionate than mocking, at least. “Not just yet, lad. First you practice with wood, _then_ you get a sword.”

Baelfire pouts a little at that, though it doesn’t suck out much of the attractiveness from the whole thing, really.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Killian protests, mouth half full and hair sticking out in odd places. He doesn’t look much like a captain, it’s funny. “I have to make sure you won’t lose any of your fingers once you do get your hands on a real blade.”

Baelfire shrugs, already resigned. “Yeah, yeah, got it.”

Killian studies him for a moment, breaking into a brisk smile. “Not to worry, something tells me you will be an exceptionally quick student,” he announces, with unwavering confidence.

Baelfire’s face burns a little, his eyes darting away shily as he can’t help smiling widely at the praise.

4.

“We’re actually taking that?” Emma asks, a little amused, as she slides back into her jeans, trying to make it quick so they don’t get caught.

“Of course we are,” he declares, grabbing the dreamcatcher. “We will soon have a real place to hang it in, won’t we?” It will make for a great memory of the time and place when they finally decided to settle down, to stop running around and just—build a home that isn’t four wheels.

Though life on the road with Emma has been fun, he can’t deny that he has missed the feeling.

“And where would you hang it?” she asks, and he can hear the smile in her voice even as he’s busy checking that the way is clear.

“I don’t know, by our bed?” It’s supposed to catch bad dreams, so it makes sense, right? “Or maybe by a window or something. We have all the time in the world to decide.”

Emma’s smile is so bright it’s blinding.

By the time that they are back in the car, the dreamcatcher stashed in the trunk with the rest of their stuff, her good mood has not subdued in the least.

“God, can you imagine it?” she asks, once he has started the car. “We’ll be _respectable_ people,” she adds, like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard.

His lips twist into an amused smile. “We’ll have to get _jobs_ ,” he weights in, glancing at her, eyebrows raised suggestively.

“ _Shit_ , you’re right—I have no idea what I want to do with my life!”

He shrugs. “Plenty of time to decide,” he says, sardonically. He takes his eyes off the road for a moment, to catch her tender, absolutely enamoured smile. He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of it.

“Well, I’ve got one for _you_ ,” she announces then. He can’t see it, but he knows she’s grinning.

Which means that the suggestion probably warrants a pre-emptive groan. “Do I want to know it?”

“It’s nothing bad!” she protests, defensively. “I was just thinking that you’d be fit for something _heroic_ —like a firefighter. Jumping into burning buildings and rescuing kittens.”

“Really?” he snorts, a little amused and a little surprised. He had never thought about that, actually, he isn’t so sure he can see himself as a firefighter. He honestly isn’t sure he has ever felt like enough part of this world to see himself as truly fit for _any_ job, but—well, he supposes he’ll have to revisit that, now. “You know, if you want to be rid of me that badly you don’t need to make up such a complicated plan to make me jump into burning buildings, just set the car on fire while I’m asleep.”

Emma snorts, and that joke earns him a playful shove. “You know I would never. I love this car too much.”

He hums. “It’s a good car,” he concedes, drumming his fingers against the wheel.

A few moments of silence go by, then Emma draws in a small sigh. “I’m kinda gonna miss it—living in here. It’s our home, you know?” She pauses. “Won’t you?”

He shrugs, turning towards her with his best smile on his face. “Maybe, a little,” he says, lightly. “But places, cars—they come and go, you know? It’s the people that matter, they are what makes a home.”

He is going to be perfectly happy wherever he is, so long as she’s with him too, and though he doesn’t say it, he can read in Emma’s smile that she understands.

“Yeah,” she says, quietly. “I guess you’re right.”

His smile widens, his eyes fixated on the road ahead.

5.

“So,” he muses, giving her a critical onceover and a light shove, which promptly snaps her out of whatever thought was distracting her. “Have I gotten so boring that you can’t listen to me for more than two seconds flat?” he jokes, offering a brisk smile to let her know that he isn’t mad.

He's just a little worried, because Tamara is usually a pretty participative partner, always searching for eye-contact without a fear in the world and always speaking her mind, but today it seems that he can’t hold her attention for even a minute.

And she keeps fidgeting. That’s not like her.

“Sorry,” she quickly says, smiling a little as she reaches for his bicep, giving him a light squeeze in reassurance. “I was just—thinking.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Should I worry? Did something happen?”

“No, no, nothing happened,” she quickly says, biting her bottom lip as her eyes squirrel away from his face. Not a great sign. If she didn’t mean for him to worry, it isn’t working out.

She takes a deep breath, as if to steady herself, and when she looks up to him it’s with a tentative, uncharacteristically shy smile. Still, it’s affectionate enough that at least it doesn’t scream ‘break-up’. That’s something, he supposes.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask,” she says, carefully. “And—and I know I might be jumping the gun, and I don’t want to scare you away—” Her hold on his arm tightens, if only for a few moments. “But I just—I really want this.”

“I’m—not following,” he confesses, because his brain is totally _blank_ at the moment.

She nods, taking another breath and moving off the couch, getting on—shit, she’s getting on one knee.

“I don’t have a ring,” she admits. “I tried to buy one, but—I—I mean, I couldn’t seem to decide, so—”

Oh, god.

She’s proposing.

She’s proposing _marriage_.

To _him_.

She scoffs to herself, giving him a tentative look. “This isn’t very traditional. My dad would have a fit.”

That drags a snort out of Neal too, the thought vaguely amusing him. He remembers her mentioning her dad: pretty controlling, a bit of a bastard, generally not too pleasant to be around. She doesn’t see him much, and he can’t fault her for that.

Tamara takes a deep breath. “So—” She offers a tender smile, one that he can’t help reciprocating, even as his brain circles back to present time, reminding him that his girlfriend is _down on one knee_ in her living room. Proposing. To him. “Big speeches are not my strong suit, but—I really love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, I’m certain of that.” She swallows, clasping his hand into hers as he realizes belatedly that his mouth is half-open. “Will you marry me?” she completes, thin and shy and so damn _beautiful_ , and yet—

He can’t help pausing for a second, his mind flashing back to the postcard he promptly stashed away, thoughts of Emma plaguing him insistently, the need to go to her, see with his own eyes that she is alright, beg for forgiveness on his knees just so she knows that he’s _sorry_ —

Tamara is on one knee in front of him, looking just as terrified as he feels, and she _loves_ him, she laughs at his jokes and she brings him coffee without him needing to ask, she lets him blast music in her car and sing along even though any sane person would have killed him after the second time— _he_ loves her, he loves the way she kisses his temple as she leaves early in the morning, he loves how personally she takes quiz shows on TV, how she grabs the paper and promptly skips to the comics section—how she looks at him and she doesn’t _care_ that he doesn’t have any family and that he doesn’t talk about them much, if at all, she only cares about _him_.

(Perhaps, the timing of Tamara’s proposal is a sign. Perhaps, that’s just destiny, telling him that it’s time to move on.)

“Neal,” she pulls him back to reality, her voice a little strained. He must have been silent too long. “Listen, I know we haven’t been dating _that_ long and—and we don’t have to get married _now_ , but—”

“Yes,” he cuts her off, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

She blinks. “What?”

“I’m saying yes,” he repeats, a smile spreading on his face as she breaks into a disbelieving laugh.

“You are?” she lets out, both of her hands squeezing his.

He nods, his smile only widening as she lets out a delighted ‘oh my _god’_ , shooting up so that she can jump in his arms and pull him into a kiss.

Suddenly, he’s surrounded by her, and he doesn’t worry about a thing.

\+ 1

Neal hates this.

He loves every minute of the days he gets to spend with Henry, with the obvious exception of the moment he has to leave him at Regina’s doorstep. Waiting for the door to open, one hand on his son’s shoulder and his fingers itching for him to claw his nails there and just never let him go, Neal feels his stomach turning over in anxious anticipation for the goodbye to come.

It's stupid, because they all live in the same town, it’s not like they won’t see each other for a _week_ , and he can always intrude on Emma’s time with Henry, as she does with theirs, it’s just—sometimes, after a whole day of Henry’s smiles and overenthusiastic hugs, he has to wonder if he can survive a full minute without him, and how he ever did before meeting him.

“Hi, Mom!” Henry chimes happily, as soon as Regina opens the door.

He slides past her with a goodbye to Neal and toeing off his shoes when Regina reminds him that they are half-covered in mud, so that he can quickly disappear upstairs and he can get back to that comic book that he was dying to finish and that he had forgotten in his room.

Usually, Henry isn’t so quick to run upstairs, and Neal finds himself in the very uncomfortable position of having a face-to-face with Regina without their son present.

That’s—weird.

He’s still kind of not over the Evil Queen from Snow White being his son’s adoptive mom. He also still has some reservations about her, no matter what Emma says, but she always looks at him like she doesn’t particularly like him either, so he supposes that evens out.

“So, uh—have a good night,” Neal eventually mutters, coming up with an awkward wave as he takes a step back, ready to flee towards the car.

Regina stares at him for a few moments, a thoughtful frown on her face. “Wait a minute,” she says then, her tone unnecessarily authoritative.

He stops, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

Regina presses her lips together, giving him a quick onceover before glancing back inside the house. She sighs. “Would you like to stay for dinner?” she asks, a little reluctantly.

Neal blinks at her. “I, uh—” _What_? “Why?” he ends up asking, a little wary.

This is the Evil Queen of Poisoned Apples, so sue him if he is a little suspicious of her sudden invitation for a _meal_.

“Well, I imagine you have every intention of sticking around,” Regina points out, crossing her arms. The look on her face is a bit patronizing, actually. “So Emma says, at least.”

“Yeah, yeah, I—” Where exactly is this conversation supposed to go? “Of course I’m sticking around.”

“Then I think it’s a problem that all I know about you is that you have Rumple’s genes and that you used to live in a cave,” she points out, drily. “Don’t you agree?”

He snorts. “You’re not exactly an open book either, for the record.”

“All the more reason to accept my invite, isn’t it?”

When he doesn’t immediately answer, she tenses a little, licking her bottom lip and shifting uncomfortably on her feet. Perhaps he still looks a little too distrustful.

“I can call Emma too, if it makes you more comfortable,” she offers, eventually. “I’m aware of my well-deserved reputation.” She says it with a quick smile, but it appears to be somehow bitter, and he detects a note of what he thinks is resignation in her voice. It tugs at his chest a little, that and the fact that she began fidgeting with her hands, only to stop when she realized she was doing it.

“Nah,” he waves her off, before he can think any better of it. “No need for a chaperone, and I’ll gladly get a few more hours with Henry if you’ll let me have them.”

Regina’s smile is brief, but sincere, and Neal finds himself reciprocating it. Maybe they can do this with Emma too, another time, because he figures that it’d be good for their son to see that they all get along, but for now it can just be the two of them, getting to know each other better.

He's about 90% sure that she wouldn't kill him with Henry in the house, so, yeah. What can go wrong, right?

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates comments, including: 
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason, feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


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